


the universe wanted me to find you

by hubblestars



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:51:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblestars/pseuds/hubblestars
Summary: “I want women, Frankie.” Grace whispers. “I deny myself, I pretend I’m someone else - but it’s so heavy.”





	the universe wanted me to find you

**Author's Note:**

> a throwback to season 1 (say yes night)!! I haven't written in a while and this is my 1st grace and frankie fic so I'm sorry if it's rough <3

Grace lets Frankie pull her down from the top of the bar with warm, slippy hands before they can get kicked out of the nightclub. Laughter bubbles soft in her throat, and happiness gets caught in the edges of her mouth like it doesn’t want to leave her face just yet. On her way down, Grace slips on the floor in the dark and falls against her friend. She doesn’t worry about Frankie catching her. She just knows Frankie will. So when Frankie grabs Grace around the waist and stumbles backwards with her, giggling, it isn’t a surprise, it isn’t a miracle, it’s just home.

For the first time in her life, Grace bathes in everything around her and just  _ accepts  _ it: Frankie’s hands soft around her waist to hold her steady, the sweat crawling down the back of her neck, the way she can’t stop smiling. The old Grace would have been disgusted at this display. She would’ve turned up her nose and swirled her martini at the red flush in Grace’s cheeks. Happiness like this -  _ freedom  _ like this - was for hippies and idiots, for the likes of  _ Frankie Bergstein.  _

She isn’t the  _ old  _ Grace anymore. Somewhere between Robert leaving her and her third shot of this say yes night, Grace had shed her brittle skin, and the loneliness had left with it.

Grace hadn’t thought in a million years that one day she’d find herself here, but caught in the sparkle of Frankie Bergstein’s smile and the frizz of her hair, Grace can’t imagine herself anywhere else. Even with the teenagers bustling against her, Grace feels a reckless joy unlike anything she’s ever known.

“I’m so happy!” Grace shouts, over the pounding of music, and Frankie pauses in the middle of a messy hairflip to throw her hands in the air. It’s only when Frankie takes Grace’s hand to twirl her that Grace realises Frankie hadn’t heard her, the deaf idiot, and affection blooms in her chest. Grows warm on her heart. Grace can keep her secret, then, that she’s never been so happy before, and that she feels her entire life has been leading up to this moment.

_ The universe,  _ Frankie would say, with a glint in her eye,  _ she knows what she’s doing.  _ Watching Frankie dance with ridiculous energy and swaying slightly on her heels, Grace thinks she might be right. Grace would never admit it, would pass it off as a drunken thought in the heat of the moment, but fate had brought her here, to this very night, and had left her with a best friend.

“Let’s get out of here,” Frankie yells.

When the song ends, they wind through the hot bodies with their arms linked, warm in the bustle of the nightclub. Grace stumbles slightly on her heels and Frankie keeps laughing at her, shouting about  _ death traps  _ and  _ the patriarchy  _ until they’re in the cold air again. 

Outside in the dark, Frankie glows under the streetlights and twirls, her hair coming loose, her eyes closed.  _ Magnificent,  _ Grace thinks, although the thought is swept away quickly with guilt and fear. When Frankie opens her eyes, Grace meets them with a jolt. 

“What?” Frankie asks, pausing in the middle of her dance. “I was just about to start my vocal exercises.”

“Sure you were.” Grace smiles and raises her eyes to the night sky. “Frankie, look.”

Stars are scattered and blinking above them. They paint the night sky in spots of gold, and Grace is reminded of one of Frankie’s paintings, the one with the blue and yellow. She feels the whole universe stretched above her, dark and endless; suddenly, Grace wonders why her whole life has been so useless, so empty, so  _ small.  _ When Frankie comes to stand beside her and bumps their shoulders together, looking up too, a tear slips down Grace’s face. 

“Crazy shit, right?” Frankie whispers. 

It’s beyond this world, Grace thinks. The alcohol pressing at the edges of her vision. The back of Frankie’s hand, bumping slightly against hers. The taste of salt when her tear reaches her lip. 

_ Oh God,  _ she thinks,  _ Frankie Bergstein is rubbing off on me. _

“For our next destination,” Frankie declares. “I know the perfect place.”

“Of course you do.” Grace says dryly, and knows before Frankie opens their mouth that they’ll go to Del Taco, and Frankie will shove too much food in her mouth and scatter crumbs on the table.

Before they call a taxi to get to Del Taco, though, Grace notices the dark curl of hair that’s slipped from Frankie’s ponytail. She reaches up, tucks it gently behind Frankie’s ear (her ears really are very cute, Grace thinks absently) and smiles slightly to herself. Grace forgets everything that she’s been taught in the moment that the tip of her finger brushes Frankie’s cheek. All of the time Grace had spent constructing herself, all of the lies that she’d thrown into the mould of her carefully carved life, slip away. In the dark it’s only Frankie’s eyes looking right at her, and the catch of Frankie’s breath, and the irritating, ridiculous chant of  _ kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss  _ echoing in Grace’s brain.

“All better.” Grace breathes. Steps away. Thinks she sees something dark in Frankie’s eyes, a kind of whisper of  _ what if, possibly, maybe-  _

“To Del Taco!” Frankie announces instead.

The moment is already gone.

*

Two minutes into melted-cheese-oh-my-god heaven, Frankie notices Grace is watching her over the table at Del Taco. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Frankie’s used to Grace watching her warily in case she drops a tray of food, is familiar with her royally pissed, ‘I am going to murder you what have you done to the kitchen’ glare, has even been graced several times with an affectionate, smiling look, on the occasions when Frankie had been particularly charming (which, to Frankie, is every occasion). 

None of these looks come close, though, to the way Grace is staring at her now. Over tacos (or more accurately, a single taco, belonging to one Frankie Bergstein) of all things. Frankie gulps down her mouthful with intrigue. She only notices Grace is looking at her lips when…

When Grace leans forward over the table to swipe the food from Frankie’s mouth with her thumb. Frankie is reminded, suddenly, of the moment only half an hour before at the back of the nightclub when Grace had looked down at her with unreadable eyes while she tucked Frankie’s hair behind her ear. Frankie had thought in that moment, recklessly, that if she were to stand on her tiptoes and kiss Grace in the dark then Grace wouldn’t push her away. Would reciprocate, even.

Grace smiles and Frankie loses her train of thought promptly.

_ Sweet goddess,  _ she thinks,  _ give me mercy. _ Curse Sol Bergstein and his gay tendencies. Curse stupid hot business lady Grace with her perfect laugh. Curse the universe for throwing her into this very situation that Frankie cannot, in any way, deal with. In fact, it’s clear the only solution is to throw herself into the ocean and pray for death.

“All better.” Frankie stammers, and concentrates on her taco with laser focus. Then an idea dawns on her.

“Grace,” She says, grinning like a cheshire cat, “Eat some.”

“Are you crazy?”

“You gotta say yes,” Frankie shoves the food towards her, her eyes glittering. “You’re bound by law. And I happen to know not one, not two, but  _ three  _ lawyers…”

“Fine.” Grace grabs the taco and looks at it gingerly. She holds it a distance, and Frankie feels laughter bubbling hysterically in her throat.

“It’s a taco, lady. It’s not gonna murder you.”

Grace murmurs something Grace-like about  _ arteries  _ and  _ cholesterol  _ before taking a small bite. Frankie wonders, suddenly, at her own impact; somewhere between their husbands leaving them and this very moment, snug in Del Taco, Grace had changed from a stuck up bitch to a stuck up friend. An interesting, wonderful, ridiculously strict and repressed marshmallow. Who was now eating a taco. Frankie had played some part in that.

And hadn’t Frankie changed a little, too? She’d found companionship and stability. She cleans her mess a little more now, and thinks carefully before she leaves her food on the kitchen counter (sometimes, anyway). Grace would never really know how thankful Frankie was to have her. How many lonely nights had been warm and happy, because Frankie knew when she woke midday Grace would be there to keep her company, in her cold, tired way?

“What would Guy say if he could see me now?” Grace giggles, and Frankie’s wonder and happiness deflates like a popped balloon.

“Oh, that guy.” Frankie laughs at her own pun, or she tries to. “He’d ask for human meat.”

“Oh, stop it.” But Grace giggles even more. She spills lettuce down her top, and suddenly her and Frankie are laughing without abandon in Del Taco at half 11, messy and sweating and tired, with tears streaming down their faces.

“He told me he loved me.” Grace says, quietly, when their laughter has subsided. 

Something cracks in Frankie, breaks and burns, although at the same time she thinks  _ good, you deserved to be loved, you deserved to be cherished.  _ Grace had never been touched or kissed properly, Frankie knows, and she’d never been held close at night. Frankie wanted her to have all of that. Of course she did. This up tight, crazy hot woman deserved the world and more.  _ Give her this, aphrodite, _ Frankie thinks, though she’s aching.

“I didn’t say it back.” Grace whispers.

There’s silence for a moment. Frankie can’t think of anything to say - her usual babble of  _ but he’s perfect for you  _ or  _ come on, Hanson, the universe wants you to have this  _ or  _ let yourself be happy, girl  _ gets stuck in her throat on the way out. 

“Why not?” Frankie manages eventually.

Before Grace can speak there’s a cough from the guy wearing the Del Taco shirt behind the counter. 

“Sorry, ladies, but we’re closing up now.” He grins. “We were meant to half an hour ago, actually.”

“Sorry, Gary.” Frankie says, stumbling to her feet.

“My name’s Steve, actually.” The guy pauses, and then says- “You guys are adorable, by the way. How long have you been married?”

Frankie feels Grace freeze behind her. Not for the first time, Frankie wishes Grace wasn’t so heterosexually heterosexual.  _ What’s wrong with that,  _ Frankie would usually say, smiling,  _ you should vibe with the gays, Grace, we’re not in the 1800s anymore.  _ But tonight, strangely vulnerable, Frankie only smiles.

“Not long.” She says, and catches Grace’s eye.

“20 years.” Grace says, still looking at Frankie.

They leave Del Taco in peals of laughter. Arm in arm. Close, but not close enough.

*

They’re walking home from Del Taco, ambling through the streets with swaying feet, when Grace realises Frankie has stopped and is several feet behind her. Grace turns around on her bare feet (the heels had started to hurt  _ hours  _ ago and she was too blissfully drunk to feel self conscious) and looks at her through the street lamps and dark houses.

“Frankie?” Grace asks, walking towards her. Frankie looks back at her with alarm. With thought. It’s the look she gets when she’s playing the ‘amatuer sleuth’ and has figured everything out. Grace pauses. “What is it?”

“Have you ever thought about it?” Frankie asks, uncharacteristically quiet. Her seriousness is jarring, even more so after their say yes night.  _ You don’t know how to be a grown up,  _ Grace had told her once,  _ you’ve never had a serious moment in your life.  _ “Have you ever thought about us together, Grace?”

_ Yes,  _ Grace thinks, although she doesn’t say it. At the question, memories come back to her in a rush of guilt, unwelcome and uncomfortable. Meeting Frankie for the first time; looking at that birds nest hair, that glittering smile, and thinking  _ ugh, who the hell does she think she is?  _ Gravitating towards Frankie at every social event for 20 years, only to insult her and tease her, pick at the parts of her that Grace pretended not to like.  _ You’re childish, you’re ridiculous, you’re nothing like me.  _ Thinking about Frankie sometimes, while washing up or putting the kids to bed, and wondering how she was doing, how her family was. Telling everyone she  _ hated _ the woman,  _ loathed  _ the woman, then making a home with her.

And oh, their home. It was a splendid one, wasn’t it? That beach house held every good memory Grace had ever had, wrapped up in a gift box with a sparkling bow on top. How many times had Grace found Frankie asleep on the sofa, and tucked her up in her favourite blanket? How many times had she yelled at Frankie in the kitchen, or the dining room, annoyed but still completely, irrevocably happy? 

_ Have you ever thought about us together,  _ she’d asked. As if Grace had thought about anything else for the last 20 years. Frankie was the easy openness, the warmth and affection, the crazy, wild spirit, that Grace had been missing her entire life. 

“What are you talking about?” Grace asks, her voice cracking.

“Nothing, I guess.” Frankie kicks at the ground, her hair loose now and flowing gentle around her shoulders.  _ Beautiful,  _ Grace thinks, despite herself. “Why’d you not tell Guy you love him?”

“Listen, Frankie. I’m not in love with Guy.” Grace pauses- she wonders how much she should say. “I wasn’t in love with Robert. Or any other- I haven’t loved any man.”

“I guess you could say,” Frankie starts shakily, smiling, “You haven’t loved any  _ guy _ .”

“Oh, haha.” Grace twirls her necklace between her fingers. She’d slipped it on underneath her outfit before she left; Frankie had made it for her, a cute dreamcatcher necklace that was heavy around her neck. “Can I tell you something?”

Frankie steps forward in the dark, her eyes focused intently on Grace with a gentleness that Grace is grateful for.

“Course.” Frankie says. “You can tell me anything, silly.”

“I want women, Frankie.” Grace whispers. “I deny myself, I pretend I’m someone else- but it’s so heavy.”

It takes every drunken bone in Grace’s body to get the words out; they hang in the air. Frankie stares at her for a long moment, and Grace realises with a start that tears are gathering in her eyes.

“I’m  _ so  _ proud of you, crazy lady. You found your truth.” Frankie smiles, full of a soft pride, and Grace wonders why she’d ever kept this from her.  _ Woman. Lesbian.  _ It’s terrifying. It’s uncomfortable. It’s freeing. Frankie moves forward and clasps Grace’s hands between her own “Oh shit, poor Guy! Is there a lucky lady you’ve got your eye on?”

Frankie’s hands hold Grace steady. When Grace looks down at her, she sees Frankie’s eyes shine with tears, pride and emotion and love all mixed together. How had they found themselves here, Grace thinks, how had Frankie moved from ‘arch nemesis’ (Frankie’s words, not Grace’s) to  _ this,  _ this beautiful woman who saw through every one of Grace’s disguise and every act and loved her for who she was beneath it all.

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Oh, Grace.” Frankie, her hands tucked in her pockets, looks strangely vulnerable. Tears are slipping down her cheeks, now. “You don’t have to. You’ve already been so brave, coming out like that. I feel- I feel honoured enough already.”

“It’s say yes night.” Grace says gently. 

“You are bound by law.” Frankie giggles, through her tears. “Oh God. It’s not someone I know, is it? She better be hot as shit-”

“Frankie.” Grace takes a deep breath. Prays to God it’ll all turn out okay. “You. It’s you. You’re ridiculous, and you drive me around the bend, but I’m in love with you.”

Frankie freezes and the air around Grace disappears. .

“For real?”

Grace smiles, slightly, and pulls her hands from Frankie’s grip.

“For real.”

*

Frankie is pretty sure that, any moment now, she’s going to wake from a marijuana fuelled fever dream in her studio and go,  _ shit, that was a wild and kind of gay but weirdly pleasant trip.  _ Because Grace Hanson - you know, Grace Hanson, the most hetero of all the heteros that ever lived heterosexually - had stood and told her completely seriously without a hint of irony that she,  _ Grace Hanson,  _ was not-so-heterosexual after all and was, in fact, in love with Frankie!  _ For real. _

Of all the crazy things that have happened to Frankie (and a lot of crazy things have happened to her) this takes the cake. 

Frankie’s pretty sure that she’s lost control of her tongue, and the rest of her body, and now she’s going to have to live as a paralysed invalid for the rest of her life.

“I told you these say yes nights always end up interesting.” Frankie manages. “Shit. I mean. Freakin’ shit balls. Um.”

Grace - beautiful, open Grace, who’d bared her heart right here on a random street in the middle of nowhere - seems ready to run away and never come back.

“You know, I’m so drunk-” Grace begins, but Frankie grabs her by the shoulders and keeps her in place. 

Under normal circumstances, Frankie would disappear for a while and meditate, or ramble to the universe, or walk along the beach until everything made sense again; but Grace deserved better than that, because she had just been so good and brave and honest, and Frankie’s fickle nature, her tendency to wait and process, just wouldn’t do. They would just have to face this like everything else: together.

_ Give me strength, goddess. _

“Not so fast, Hanson. You can’t escape Frankie Bergstein that easily.” Frankie feels Grace’s hair tickle the back of her hands, sees her terrified eyes in the dark, and it suddenly sinks in that her wildest dreams have just come true. Grace Hanson: check. Gay: double check. In love with Frankie: double triple quadruple check. “You know, I gotta tell you, this isn’t how I thought the night would go. But um, I’m not opposed to… er, I mean… you see… samebacktoyouorwhatever.”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?” Frankie sighs. “You. Me. Love hearts. A bouquet of flowers, maybe, if I’m lucky.”

“Are you saying…”

Frankie wonders if Grace is currently trying to squash down her hope, and feels a sharp tug in her chest. She cups Grace’s face between her hands and smiles.

“You know, you gave me so much of you tonight. I gotta thank you.” Frankie smiles wider, brushes her thumb along the edges of Grace’s cheeks and watches with awe as Grace tries to catch her breath. “I never thought I’d have this much, not from skinny stuck up Grace Hanson. But I owe you the same. The universe will never forgive me otherwise.”

Frankie pauses to brush her thumb over Grace’s bottom lip.

“I loved Sol, you know. I also really loved Charlie’s Angels, and George Clooney… Anyway, the point is. I love you too. So much. In the gay way. More than you know, Grace.” Frankie’s hands are trembling and her head is replaying  _ disaster bisexual get your words out why can’t you talk  _ over and over. Grace is staring at her in unabashed wonder, as if she can’t believe her luck, and everything feels magical. Completely, stupidly wonderful. “I still can’t believe this is  _ happening.” _

“Really? You…. want _ me _ ?”

“Oh, darling.” Grace’s disbelief breaks Frankie’s heart in two. “How could I not?”

"I've been thinking,” Grace whispers, after a long moment, “That the universe wanted me to find you. You've made me so happy, Frankie.”

“Back at you, beautiful.” Frankie can’t help but smile, giddy giddy giddy. Her breath comes out white from the cold and passes over Grace’s lips. “And Grace?”

“Yes?” Grace asks, smiling back as if she can’t quite help herself.

“You don’t ever have to pretend for me. I promise.”

Frankie reaches up to press a kiss to Grace’s forehead and seals the promise. Soft against her skin. Warm in the darkness surrounding them. So when she moves to capture Grace’s lips, it’s not a surprise, it’s not miraculous, it’s just home.   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
